Lady of Lindon
by Ghani Hwi
Summary: A short story about no character directly from Tolkien's work. Just a manifestation of my own mind- a sorrowful Elven Lady- the last of her kindred in Middle-earth.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Oh, I abhor these things. You should know I am not, nor will I ever be related to Tolkien or those that own the appropriate copyrights for the material that I am using as my template. Fear not, though- they are in careful hands and shall be returned unmarred. This is a short story, not really meant to be much of anything. I was writing in a romance, but found that I enjoyed reading it more as a simple observation of an elve's last days in Middle-earth. I hope you enjoy. Oh yes, as an addendum to this note- what you see here is not the whole story. There are four parts…to be posted as soon as their finishing touches are added. 

          In the autumn of my life the zeniths of summers past seemed faint memories too distant to be anything save bitter and comfortless. Nights, which once passed with the idle dreams of a youthful maiden, soon fell into the bitter watches of a toothless hound. I could no more hold my precious memories together than I could draw water and capture it in my open palms. Time, in my elder years, passed with the longing sigh of a winter too long in his stay. It had not been so in my youth- for then the days had passed as quickly as the fleeing tips of a daffodil that were caught upon the breath of an anxious lover. The tall, vibrant stalks of summer grain were green and broke between my fingers with a snap, sending a lifeblood of sticky water across my fingertips. Too harsh the light of the sun turned those fields into sweeping rows of burnt gold; these fields had never seen the harvest. They fell stalk after endless stalk in the deepest places of my heart- to rot upon the soil that had so carefully given them root at their conception. The wheat had been left to death at the hand of time and the heavy winds of impending autumn.

          I remained close to the memories of my younger years, perhaps waiting for the warmth of those summers to once again roll across my face. It was after a time that I began to realize this coming winter was to be the final winter of my life, the last bridge for a soul too long wandering in the wilds of this land of mortality. I was alone in this world- I had been so for many years. 

Many years ago, their exact number no longer counted in my mind, I had watched them leave- a lone sentry as all of my kindred, my dearest friends and nearest sisters, had passed from a land bound to the steady measure of time into the promise of immortal summers. Their days had been stretched as an endless sea upon which the sun is but cresting, bathing the depthless blue in shades of pale violet and pink. Yet had I stayed in this world- where the passionate crimsons and violets of a waning sunset were fading into eternal darkness. I remained in the land of my birth as a wandering child; helpless to stop the decay of time upon those things and places I had once loved. 

          I found that with the passing of my peoples into the West, the pleasures of my dreams soon became the nightly torture of Ulmo's beckoning. The pull of the tide would have sooner swept me away, had it not been for the memories of an ageless soul. So I had come to peace with the lulling roar of the ocean's call, and the pleading of Valinor fell upon deaf ears. I was satisfied with my choice. I was content to die at the hands of the supple boughs I had climbed when I was younger, to perish at the feet of the mighty oaks and maples that had been but seedlings when I was a child. 

          It was not difficult to say when the light veil of death had fallen gently about my shoulders. Upon waking that morning, now a fortnight ago, I simply felt a chill that would not take leave of my mind. It haunted my footsteps and found a fast purchase within my heart, sending dreams of a darker color than my mind could ever remember from years past. I knew what these deft whispers were speaking of, and with open eyes I accepted all of their culls and embraces. I did not desire to remain in this world that had given nothing but bitter respite for the most desperate wishes of my heart. Now, in the barren waste of death, I found what I thought to be my final comfort.

^

                "What do you desire? On an evening such as this, a woman's heart can be refused naught…"  Upon the open and gently sloping dell, in a place little traveled by the fleet footsteps of the elves, rested the crest of a hill which had broken free from the tight lace of the forest trees. It rose but slightly above their tops, straining for a better view of the celestial wonderment, coming to nearly a span above the cares of the world below. Alone, two figures now stood upon the wet grass, their faces turned towards the sky as their thoughts remained much closer to the earth. 

          "To have many nights just as this one. That Lindon's beauty shall not be spent by the blood of its soldiers nor marred by the fires of war." Amarthwen could feel an unusually cold breeze wrap its way around her body, separating her but momentarily from Herufuin, who could not hide the concern in his voice as he thought upon her words.

          "War shall come to this earth, even those so great and powerful cannot stop the hatred of darkness. All that can be asked is for the mercy of the Valar and the end of all wars amongst the peoples of this land." She shuddered and drew closely into the niche between his neck and shoulder that had become her stronghold of late. The darkening watches of the night were drawing too close for her liking.

          "May we retire and speak no more of this? My eyes grow weary and my heart heavy in this darkness."

          "And you shudder so! Come and we shall find warmth and comfort from these unhappy thoughts; for they prey too easily on your mind, which should be at rest." He gently drew his open palm across the soft curve of her stomach and caressed the life that was growing within. Amarthwen smiled gently and placed her own hands upon the silky folds of her dress just below her breasts. 

          "He shall have the strength of his father."

          "Yes, and the gentle heart of his mother. Perchance he shall be lucky enough to bear her eyes, for they are the brightest jewels barring even the Simirils of Feanor. The lights of Telperion and Laurelin were never so fair." 

          "Even the lights of the most wondrous creations of Kementári were brought to ruin. All things fair are meant to suffer…" Her voice faded into the whispering of a passing breeze as it rolled through the rustling boughs above. 

^

          Often my footsteps brought me unwillingly to the beautifully wrought gates of the Gray Havens. The arches would not fall for many ages to come; however, the creeping vines of passing years were already beginning to wind their way over the delicate stone carvings; tiny fronds now gripping tightly the sandaled feet of once great kings. Time had finally reached the once immortal realm of the elves. It should have heralded immeasurable sorrow; it provided only absolution. As though the presence of overgrown grasses and crawling ivy confirmed the passing years and gave me a small measure of comfort. The ever-incomplete book of days was open and the leaves were falling away steadily. 

          I had once wished that those nightmares beside which my mind would constantly lay might fall away with those passing years. They did not, and as I wandered the forest alone, my grief for times long past was comfortless.


	2. SHAWN ASHMORE IS DAMN SEXY!

"He can ask no more of you Herufuin!"

          "Gil-Galad is our king, Amarthwen. He can ask everything of me; you know this." Herufuin's fingers effortlessly pulled the taut horsetail string of his bow. The supple wood bent under the weight of his efforts, the soft red flesh having seen many wars in its long years under Herufuin's charge. Amarthwen watched the gilded handle of the bow as it caught every fleck of gold in the waning light of the evening sun. Her mind would give her no rest; she felt that Herufuin would not return from this war- not this time. 

          "Would you leave though it displeases me so?" He gave her a reproachful look.

          "You speak as though I were abandoning you forever."

          "What of my dreams?" 

          "Dreams do not foretell the future; I shall be ruled by no fate save that which I make. The Valar are ever watchful over their children. Send them your prayers and worry not for my safety." Sensing her emotions found no purchase, save upon tenterhooks, Herufuin touched his rough palm against the top of her hand, rubbing it soothingly.  "Tell me, have I ever broken a promise to you before?" Tears fell unconscious down Amarthwen's face, mounting the crest of her cheek and sliding in wet rivers down the length of her neck. 

          "Never…" Her words were little more than a whisper as Herufuin drew her close. He smelled of the warm breezes which rolled inward from the Gulf of Lune. She burrowed her face into his soft clothes, inhaling every bit of air her lungs could bear. "I still ask you not to leave. I fear you shall not return."

          "I promise to return. As the sun does constantly fall below the horizon, yet rise again unfailing, so shall I return to you. But for me, there is something you can do…" She breathed in shakily.

          "What do you ask of me..?" Herufuin pressed his hands against her swollen belly, now a full eight months since conception. He traced his fingertips across the soft arch, feeling for a moment a swift nudge from his son.

          "Send word- through whatever means, when he is born. I much desire to meet this fellow who has stolen my heart, and the heart of my Amarthwen." She gave a weak laugh and whispered an assent, allowing him to part from her side as he gathered together his remaining weapons: a long set of ebony-handled knives and a delicately wrapped set of arrows he had fashioned but a few weeks ago. His voice tried to sound hopeful; doubt and fear however, crept as thieves into his speech.

          "The muster of Eriador shall not fail in its task; trust to hope, Amarthwen."

^

          How often had my mind returned to how proud and noble Herufuin had looked upon the morn of his departure? His tall, fair visage undimmed by the dull rise of a red dawn; his long blond hair caught in the gentle warming breezes as he rode alongside his brethren, marching towards the south, marching towards war. He had turned but for a last glance at where I stood, and even now I could feel the warmth of his smile bathe me in serenity one last time. 

One last time.

Had my feet carried me to the city gates again today? The distant crashing of waves upon the western shores of Lindon resonated within my ears with a terrible fury. How great was my longing to see those shores ere my last days upon Arda's soil. Fear felled even my greatest desires, for though my heart begged me to walk the seamless shores of white pearls beyond the borders of this world, I found I could not leave the ground upon which I had built my dreams nor depart the soil from which I had gathered the shards of my shattered hopes. 

          I could see the horizon, dotted with the distant shadows of ancient trees. The sunset of an autumn eve fell with passionate fires of crimson and gold, as a great artist had once spoken to me: "When they ask me "Of your creations, which is the finest? Which the most fair?" I find no answer, for with the effortless fall of Arien, Eru brings all things wrought by our hands to naught- for he is the master painter, sculptor;, visionary beyond even our immortal sight.". Each crevice of the land beneath my vantage had been bathed in a prism of colors falling away from the flaming orb as she made her way towards the sea and gave Tiliron leave for the night. 

          Sorrowfully I turned again towards the darkening city. Shadows filled the spaces of my mind and found niches aplenty in the deepening forest all about me. The unforgiving blackness of night was often my most voracious foe. He knew my fears.


End file.
